


If I Had to Look at You

by Sneeze_Meister



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Caretaking, Despair, Heavy Angst, M/M, One Shot, Sick Character, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1974159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sneeze_Meister/pseuds/Sneeze_Meister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren writes a short passage about the relationship between him and his sickly lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Had to Look at You

You called it an involuntary eating disorder. Something that you couldn't help.

You still ate, but not a lot. I was almost like a mother bird, forcing food down your throat just to make sure it was reaching your stomach. I had to cut everything you ate into little pieces, so that your stomach could digest it and you could eat more. I've done this ever since we met, ever since you told me that you got a stomach ache when you ate too much.

More often than I'd like to admit, I stare at you as you're doing something simple, like reading or sleeping or talking on the phone. I watch as your delicate chest rises and falls with each broken breath you take, watch as your bones protrude so far that I can see them through your clothes. I stare at your pale, sickly looking skin, stare at your delicate body, and I almost can't believe that that pitiful _thing_ your soul resides in can be held together. Whenever I run my hand through your hair, whenever I caress your soft skin, I hope to God that I'm being as gentle as I can be, because you look so fragile that just a simple touch could shatter you to pieces.

But then there were _moments_. Moments where you looked so strong that not even Reiner could take you. Moments where the triumph in your eyes could light up the whole world. Moments where it looked like you could do anything you set your mind to. I wish those happened more frequently than the others.

But you can't see it. You can't see all the good you accomplish; all the kindness you spread through the world. No, you can only stare at your reflection, stare at your pasty, hollow self and crack a joke about how you need to eat more. As if I haven't been trying to get you to do just that for years.

And when you stare at me, look into my eyes, all you can see is my sorrow, my grief that the boy I had grew up with and fallen for is slowly withering away. I can tell you see that by the way the light fades from your eyes, and you grow quiet.

But what you don't see, is how beautiful you truly are. You don't see the way my eyes light up when I see you, see how I try to never leave your sight. I don't care about the frail shell you use, I care about _you_ ; kind, timid you, sharing ideas I never thought of before. You always look so hesitant and guilty when you suggest something, when you share your opinion after I had shared my own. Sometimes you don't even tell me your thoughts at all.

At first I didn't understand why you would give me gifts so often; why you would let me have my way most of the time. But then I slowly began to realize, that those presents you gave me, those times when you let me have the power, those times when we let our bodies mingle, all those things were _apologies_. When you gave me those tickets to that baseball game, you weren't telling me  _go have fun_ , you were telling me _I'm sorry you have to watch me die_.

One time when we were younger, you had just gotten beaten up by some older kids with sticks up their asses. They ran when Mikasa and I came, but the damage had already been done. I had knelt down to make sure you were okay, to help you up, but you had refused to let me touch you. You kept apologizing over and over for worrying me, and I had told you that I would stop worrying if you would just let me check your bruises. And that's when I heard you whisper, your voice hoarse and barely audible, _but there's nothing left of me_.

Whenever I wrap my arms around you, whenever I kiss you, I'm fierce but I'm gentle. You call me passionate, and I guess that may be the case, but really I'm just afraid if I don't love you hard enough you'll fade away, but if I love you too hard your body will break and you'll become nothing.

I know I deserve this pain, this constant torture whenever I see your weakness or watch you eating. I deserve it because I let myself fall for you. I let myself fall for the weak boy even though I knew it wasn't going to end well. I almost burst out crying when you tripped and sprained your ankle, because I saw firsthand how fragile and sickly you really were. How could someone so beautiful, so strong willed, so alluring, be so weak?

Every night, as I turn out the lights and you curl up beside me, I think about this. I think about this as we say goodnight. I wonder how things will go down in the end; fantasize about you getting better, even though you were always like this and will probably always be like this. If I think about it too long, I begin to stiffen up, my arms tightening around you. That's how you know I'm distressed, and you whisper sweet nothings into my ear until I sleep. But sometimes you're already asleep when my limbs pull you closer, so I torment myself with every exhale you make, telling myself that that was the last breath you took until you inhale again.

Some mornings your body would be too weak to get out of bed; you'd feel too exhausted to move. Those mornings scare me the most, because while I'm downstairs making breakfast for you, you might pass away. When you're watching TV with me, I'm afraid you might leave me. When you're next to me in the passenger seat, I'm afraid that you'll suddenly lean against the car door, you're eyes open and dead. I fear for your life every second of the day. While I'm trying to put my worries aside, I wonder in amazement about how you got me to need you, to crave you, to want you by my side for eternity.

You ask me what's on my mind, why I always seem to be thinking about something. I want to tell you everything, to burst like a dam and let all the water flow out and crash into you so that you can finally understand everything I've ever thought about you, but I tell you nothing. You seem frustrated that I won't tell you my worries, but now I guess you can understand one thing: my frustration whenever you keep quiet about your beautiful, precious thoughts, because those thoughts won't last forever. There will come a day when I won't ever be able to see into that mind of yours anymore, because your soul would've left your broken body behind. Your soul will leave _me_ behind. And I just can't bare that thought.

If I had to look at you, if I had to see you lying there in bed, sick and wasting away, your frail hand dangling off the bed and your dull eyes staring at me from across the room as you tell me that you've gotten sick again, I think I'd go completely insane. I couldn't look at you anymore, then. I don't want to see you dying slowly in front of me. But I have no choice. I have to be there with you, until the bitter end.

Sometimes I ask myself why it had to be this way. Why you couldn't of just been healthy, and that we could've been more happy than sad. I wish so hard that my eyes burn and my palms ache from my nails digging into them, but I know that wishes don't come true. Happy endings are hard to come by. Life isn't just a storybook, and it isn't what you make it. Life is shitty. Life always wants to make things worse for you, push you to the edge of killing yourself. To me, happiness is just an illusion. I know this because whenever I look at you, see your pasty skin and your bones jutting out from it, I feel like I'm being gutted alive. I feel like life is laughing at me, glad that I have to watch my love wither away in front of me.

Everyday I watch a battle go on between you and _death_. You're fighting, and fighting hard, but I can see that you're getting weaker, that you'll slowly lose that war sooner than you should've. Everyday you watch a battle go on between me and _life_. I'm fighting, and fighting hard, but in the end I'll lose, and despair will finally eat away what's left of me. But you don't see that.

Even though all this is going on, I'm glad that I get to spend every moment of it with you. I'm glad I met you and fell for you, even though the bitter end is inevitable.

Because what would I be without you?

**Author's Note:**

> Got this inspiration from a slam poem. Those things are very emotional.  
> Thanks for reading this; I enjoyed writing it.  
> To be honest, out of all the short stories I made, this one is my favorite.  
> Let me know how I did, please! A kudo or a comment is always appreciated! :D


End file.
